#many hot unhinged dragons and dragon hunters

[maliciouslove]

have the girlies (gn) found out about woltekamui yet?

[mcyt-apocalypse-au]

httyd au: character plans

TommyInnit:

A funny and charismatic kid, tommy can always bring a shy dragon or person out of their shell.

Best friends with Tubbo, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Snotlout

I mean like him and tubbo are pretty much polar opposites but they met when they were really young and help eachother out tons

Tubbo will help tommy with dragon studies and tommy will defend tubbo from anyone wanting to hurt him or fishlegs

Snotlout and tommy grew up as rivals, always trying to gain the attention of the village, but as they grew older they realised how much more enjoyable their competitions would be if they were close friends

Tommy has a red and grey deadly nadder called nox. he's an energetic dragon with a playful side, however he ca get aggressive if someone threatens tommy.

Tommy will often just sit on a bench with nox, staring out at the sunset as he hummed the delicate tune of his two favourite songs, mellohi and cat

He hummed the tunes so much that Nox as even started to copy him, recently Nox has started humming the tunes to calm Tommy down if he ever upset or angry

Tubbo:

Tubbo is a shy yet chaotic kid that's an expert in all things dragon

He's best friends with Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Tommy, he looke up to them both, craving Fishlegs' knowledge and Tommy's confidence

He has a proud and friendly Razorwhip called Silver. Silver is literally Tubbo's biggest supporter, she's so proud of how far he's come

He has also trained a pack of Night Terrors that have all vowed to protect Berk. The large pack of Night Terrors stumbled upon Berk by complete chance, they were seeking sanctuary for their injured leader and lucky enough for them, Tubbo was willing to help!

So he nutured the leader back to full health, allowing the pack to stay on the island while their leader recovered, and they haven't left since, even know their leader is good as new.

Silver has also memorized the tunes of Tommy's favourite songs because Nox taught her, she understood that tyey also calmed Tubbo down, so she used them for both dragon riders if they got upset or stressed

Technoblade:

Pretty much an urban myth among the residents of Berk, very few have had the pleasure of meeting and interacting with him.

Despite what the stories say, Techno is most definitely not a cold hearted killer or a cruel tyrant, he's just an awkward dragon expert with a thirst for victory

Techno has grey Titan Wing Triple Stryke, with rose gold tail spikes, called Spike. Spike is a fearless dragon destined for greatness and victory, with a hunger for success and strength, he and Techno are the perfect duo.

Spike was being hunted down by dragon hunters, but once Techno stumbled into the currently vulnerable dragon's path, he sensed the strength and potential that radiated from it.

The two are very protective of eachother, especially as they're usually the only other sign of life that they see. Techno and Spike live alone on a small island. Techno has a small farm there and he'll occasionally fly to Berk to trade for supplies

Jschlatt:

Schlatt is a misunderstood rebel, haunted by his past and love for chaos. One of the only people in Berkian history that has been forcefully exhiled, rumours of his unhinged behaviour and heartless actions were soread by the village elders, tainting his reputation.

Schlatt has a protective and wary Skrill named Spark, or affectionately dubbed Sparky. Spark is pretty much the only friend that Schlatt can rely on, so naturally Spark is protective and loyal to Schlatt.

Before he was exhiled, he requested that Phil and Hiccup, one of the village blacksmiths and the greatest dragon trainer, also son of the chief, could make him a body suit that would make him immune to Soarky's lightning bolt abilities.

Back on Berk, he was best friends with Quackity and Fundy, but those friendships collapsed when they went behind his back and spread false rumours, detailing Schlatt's appailling acts against the law of Berk

In the four years that he's been exhiled, he's only spoken to a few people. Among those few are Tommy and Tubbo.

He first met Tommy and Tubbo when they were trying to rescue Nox from a dragon trap. Schlatt knew the traps, he and Spark had destroyed many of them before, so he offered his help and a cautious, yet desperate Tommy accepted it. He freed Nox with ease, earning both dragon trainer's gratitude.

Philza:

Basically everyone's most treasured member of the village. He's the village blacksmith and everyone's support beacon, somehow becoming everyone's second father

He'll run his errands around Berk, whistling as he basks in the morning sun. Everytime he sees a familiar face, he'll double check on them, asking if they've hydrated, asking if they've eaten well and asking how they're doing mentally

He's always there to talk if something's wrong. Like i'm talking he'll drop all of his errands and take you to his and Kristin's house and sit you infront of the fire with a cup of steaming hot tea

He's best friends with Wilbur, Techno and Gobber

His dragon is a Stormcutter called Skye. She's a loyal, caring dragon, often motherly to young dragons that seek shelter on Berk.

If you can't find him on Berk, he's probably soaring through the clouds as the sunsets, with Kristin, on their dragon's backs

He's also pretty famous for his building and invention blue prints, his expertise is greatly sort after due to the aesthetically element of them

Recently, he found out that Tubbo adores bees and Tommy adores cows so, to make his sons happy, he's started learning how to make lil bee and cow figures and somehow incorporate them into his designs

From one corner or the archipelago to the other it's pretty much accepted that he's the most talented dragon tanner, even being anle to tame a titan wing if given the chance

Nihachu:

AKA Niki, she's pretty much the big sister of the village, a soft-spoken and kind dragon trainer that's always there to talk if someone needs her

She's pretty famous for being a dragon carer, she'll look after dragons that are injured or orphaned, raising them to full health so they can live life to the fullest

Niki has a shy, peaceful Lightfury, named Luna. She has pastel purple eyes and glimmering white scales. A timid, peaceful dragon without a care in the world, until Niki is threatened or hurt.

Pretty much the perfect team, Luna and Niki have the closest bond out of anyone on the dragon trainer team

She's best friends with Wilbur, Techno, Fundy and Tommy

As the story progresses, she becomes a mentor for Hiccup, helping him heal Toothless and develop the bond between them

Even as the story develops to httyd 3, she's still his mentor. Basically like sibling figures to eachother, Niki helps him learn how to approach the wild Lightfury without scaring her off

[thesimmingspacebard]

Game of Thrones Legacy Challenge

Because I love legacy challenges, and I love killing sims, I thought the perfect, fantastical hybrid would be of the Game of Thrones variety. I take inspiration from the books/series, but I change a lot to make for a more satisfying sims-ified generational story. After all, now these great houses are all a related family tree, not competing for power in the same land. So many things will be different, deal with it, don’t @ me. 

Okay, into the GoT Legacy challenge. 

Base rules:

Every heir must do the political career (AKA King) unless stated otherwise 

You have to go through with planned deaths

You must change castle color schemes for each main house 

Cheating is allowed to get the intended children 

Each child must max one toddler skill and one child aspiration

Asha Greyjoy

After her parents died, Asha did anything to keep her and her siblings afloat. She sold family heirlooms, downsized land, and became a criminal of the high seas. But, now that her siblings have grown, Asha grows tired of defaming her family name. Settling down in what remains of the Greyjoy Manor,  Asha sets out to create a dynasty of her own. However, they’re taking that whole family motto (“We Do Not Sow”) pretty seriously. While they do still work odd jobs as a petty criminal, she keeps insisting she’s doing it for the right reasons. Asha wants to make the world a better place than her ancestors did... But she wants to do it in a fast-track kind of way and decides to rise up in the world by marrying a wealthy spouse. 

So her new legacy begins. 

Asha’s Traits: Gloomy, Outgoing, Good (At heart) 

Asha must max out the fishing aspiration

Asha must mount at least 10 fish to her walls

Asha must have at least 3 sons

Asha must have a live-in maid to help with children 

Asha must build an opulent castle with her riches (or appropriate the Baratheon Castle I built on the gallery (The_SpaceBard) 

You must choose if Asha will quit her criminal career and devote herself to her rowdy children and repairing her lackluster marriage, or stay in the criminal career, take a lover, and have a illegitimate child that her spouse casts out

Robert Baratheon

Leading is hard for Robert Baratheon, particularly with his brother, Stannis, always on his heels. Stannis thinks he’s the better leader, but he respects Robert’s claim to heir. But, despite their uneasy peace, it's always created this unspoken rivalry between the two. 

Robert taking everything Stannis ever wants, though, doesn’t help. 

When Robert becomes of age, he takes over as head of house. But along with it, he takes Stannis’ high school sweetheart. Will the two find a way to reconcile or will Stannis’ jealousy rip the two (and perhaps the entire kingdom) apart? 

Robert’s Traits: Glutton, Slob, Good

Stannis’ Traits: Good, Ambitious, Jealous

Renley’s Traits: Outgoing, Romantic, Active 

Renley must die on his young adult birthday 

Stannis must have a teen pregnancy resulting in one child: Shireen

Robert must steal Stannis’ partner

Robert must have at least 4 children with said partner: Brandon, Lyanna, Eddard, Benjen

Robert must max out charisma 

Robert must die once all his children born 

Stannis must join the detective career 

You must choose of Stannis forgives his long-lost-beloved and raises his daughter and her children as family or if he sets his wife and daughter on fire and is executed for it

Ned Stark

After the internal bickering of his father and uncle that left the family in ruin, Robert’s children are all too aware of what power can do to their family. Disillusioned with ruling, Brandon leaves the house to his siblings, never to be seen again. 

While that leaves Lyanna heir, she’s uninterested in leadership and Eddard (AKA Ned) takes charge. Renaming his family the Starks, he sets out to focus on family first, not power. 

Tragedy still strikes, however, over and over until he finds himself the final Stark standing. Things only start looking up when he falls in love and creates a family of his own. 

He raises 6 strong children (including the baby of his sister, Lyanna). Though he does not seize more power in his lifetime, he couldn’t be prouder.  

Brandon’s Traits: Good, Self-Assured, Hot-Headed

Ned’s Traits: Family-Oriented, Good, Neat 

Lyanna Traits: Romantic, Loves the Outdoors, Music Lover

Benjen’s Traits: Loner, Good, Gloomy

Brandon must start the Leader of the Pack aspiration

Brandon must “go missing” when he becomes a young adult (Feel free to get creative, but I will be locking him in a dungeon below)

Benjen must freeze to death

Lyanna must have a teen pregnancy with a much older man

Lyanna must die after giving birth to a son: Jon (can cheat gender) 

Ned must marry a jealous redhead

After all his siblings are dead, Ned has five children in rapid succession: Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon

You must choose if Ned will raise Jon as a son or as a servant 

Sansa Stark

Unlike generations before, and much like Ned hoped, the second Starks did not grow up coveting each other’s talents or responsibilities. Jon dreamed of becoming a simple hunter, Sansa wanted to be a princess, Arya wanted to be an athlete, Bran wanted to be a scholar, and Rickon wanted to be a baker. Every Stark left the house to become their own person, save Robb, Sansa, and Jon. They figured they could maintain their kingdom on their own. 

That is, until Robb tragically, suddenly dies and it's up to Sansa to take up the mantle. As a child she just wanted to be a pretty princess and wife, but can she step up and become a queen? 

Jon’s Traits: Loner, Dog Lover, Loves The Outdoors 

Robb’s Traits: Insider, Outgoing, Self-Absorbed (Or Self-Assured, if you don’t have Get Famous) 

Sansa’s Traits: Genius, Materialistic, Ambitious 

Arya’s Traits: Active, Hot-Headed, Noncommittal 

Rickon’s Traits: Cheerful, Foodie, Squeamish 

Bran’s Traits: Gloomy, Bookworm, Unflirty 

Robb must start a “Winterfell” club 

All Stark children (except Robb, Sansa, and Jon) must leave the castle once they become young adults. That can be for school, romance, death, etc. 

Except Robb. Robb MUST die at his own wedding

When Robb dies, Jon gets a dog

Sansa must have 3 children: Rhaegar, Viserys, and Danaerys (Dani, if your fingers don’t want to deal with typing it out). Sansa must have Rhaegar early on and Viserys and Dani much later

You must choose if Sansa dies alongside her son, Rhaegar, in the same tragedy or deliberately gets him killed herself for his abandonment and neglect

Dani Targaryen

Watching the Stark house almost collapse because of all the children going off to do their own things, Rhaegar wanted to whip the house back into shape under a new name: House Targaryen. Ambitious and determined (and a little unhinged), the dragon-like siblings wanted to reclaim glory for their mother who held the castle together in its darkest hours. 

That is, until Rhaegar runs off with a pretty young thing and shirks all his duties. 

Dani quickly takes over, despite the fact her brother Viserys is always looking over her shoulder and trying to enforce his whims without doing any of the work. Dani will not let bad seeds get in the way of her family legacy, though, no matter the cost

Rhaegar’s Traits: Kleptomaniac, Music Lover, Noncommittal 

Viserys’ Traits: Mean, Ambitious, Hot-Headed

Dani’s Traits: Cat Lover, Hot-Headed or Erratic, Genius

Rhaegar must max out the violin skill  

Rhaegar must get married, divorce, and remarry a much younger woman

Viserys must turn into a vampire and burn to death

Dani must marry and become a widower within the week 

Dani must max out her Debate and Charisma skills

Dani must have 3 very territorial cats and one (possibly adopted) child: Lysa

Dani must extend her life as much as possible

You must choose if Dani will have an illicit affair with an extended family member (descendent of Asha’s illegitimate child/Renley, descendant of Shireen, descendant of the Stark children who left) to produce Lysa or have three more dead spouses, none of which give her a child

Lysa Tully

Lysa grew up with the breaker of chains, the mother of dragon-like cats, the most famous ruler in recent history. She made mountains move with a single word. 

It’s not Dani’s fault she didn’t have much time for Lysa. She was making the world better for everyone, including her daughter. And that didn’t affect Lysa much, not really, she just is a little clingy... and stressed out... and just desperately wants to start her own family.

But will a family of her own ever fill the empty space in her heart?  

Lysa’s Traits: Paranoid, Family-Oriented, Erratic

Lysa must have only one son: Robin 

Robin’s other parent must die

Lysa must have no skills over level 1 other than parenting 

Lysa must get fired from politics, leaving Dani to still rule until her great-granddaughter is of age

Lysa must max out the Super Parent aspiration

Lysa’s only close friend is her son

You must decide if Lysa becomes a single parent for life or she’ll find love again

Robin Arryn

Robin’s mother, Lysa, was clingy. It overwhelmed Robin his entire life, especially living in such a large castle with one lonely, overbearing woman following him constantly. He loved her dearly, particularly since he knows how... distant his grandmother can be. But Robin is desperate for breathing room and to make his own mark on their legacy

He was a delicate, uncoordinated child who needed and appreciated the extra hand from Lysa, but now as an adult, Robin just wants to bring color and joy back into the castle. And, in turn, to the people of their kingdom

Robin’s Traits: Squeamish, Creative, Clumsy 

Robin must become Lysa’s best friend (until he becomes an adult and marries) 

Robin must marry young to a local villager with similar features to his mother

Robin must have two children: Margaery and Loras 

Robin must max out the painter and piano skills 

Robin must litter the castle with masterpieces ONLY

Margaery Tyrell

Margaery grew up in a complicated home, with two elderly matriarchs running the kingdom. Grandma Lysa was never quite queen material, and Margaery was disgusted with her for it. She identified more with her great-grandmother, the infinite Queen Dani, a cunning dragoness of a ruler.  

Growing up idolizing her queen, adoring her father, and sharing everything with her brother, Margaery always felt she was being groomed to be a well-rounded, beloved queen in her own right. When Queen Dani finally passes on, Margaery is sure she will be the monarch Dani always meant her to be. But will she live up to her own expectations? 

Margaery’s Traits: Cheerful, Genius, Outgoing

Loras’s Traits: Active, Romantic, Freegan 

Young Margaery must be close to Dani until she dies, but hates Lysa  

Margaery must take the throne when Dani dies 

Margaery must have three children: Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion 

Margaery’s partner must hate Tyrion 

Margaery’s partner must also be romantically involved with Loras 

You must decide if Margaery or Loras get to have a happily ever after once Tyrion is born. The other must die tragically

Cersei/Tyrion Lannister

The Lannister children grew up knowing that the family and their legacy comes first. But perhaps they took that a tad too literally. 

Cersei, the eldest daughter of Queen Margaery, was proud to be the next beautiful woman leading their dynasty. But unlike her foremothers, Cersei refused to take a spouse. She insisted to the kingdom that she does not need a marriage to be great. 

Though, her growing brood of golden blonde children is a little confusing for the villagers. Unbeknownst to the people, their second parent is not her noble suitor that she keeps around for appearances, but her twin brother. If their secret is ever discovered, her reign might be doomed and their nosy, judgmental, annoyingly intelligent younger brother may be forced to be the king he never wanted to be. 

Tyrion’s Traits: Genius, Good, Gloomy 

Cersei’s Traits: Mean, Creative, Ambitious 

Jaime’s Traits: Active, Good, Romantic

Cersei must have a “beard” aka a cover romance for her true soulmate situation 

Jaime and Cersei must have an illicit relationship since their teenage years and have children together

Cersei must have 4 children: Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, Tywin

Joffrey’s Traits: Evil, Mean; Myrcella’s Trait: Creative Tommen’s Trait: Cheerful

Joffrey must die as a teen

The other two Lannister “Purebloods” must get taken away by authorities before they reach their teen years (the fourth one must be taken as an infant) 

Once her children are gone, Cersei will die 

Once all his nephews/nieces are gone, Tyrion will adopt 2 boys: Doran and Oberyn

You must decide if Jaime comes to his senses and helps run the kingdom with Tyrion or dies with Cersei 

Doran and Oberyn Martell

Raised to be the best they can be, Doran and Oberyn were pitted against each other far too often. It created a rivalry between the two that grew insidious over the years. After decades of chaos, clashing ideologies, and lots and lots of death, both men wanted to bring the kingdom into an age of glory. They grew tired of all the broken relationships and want their house to come back together and stay strong. However, they both want to do it very differently. Doran wants to promote education, peace, and humanitarianism. Oberyn prefers expansion, freedom, and nationalism. 

The two tolerated each other out of brotherly love, but when their father dies and the crown falls to them, who will lead the kingdom to greatness? 

Doran’s Traits: Bookworm, Perfectionist, Self-Assured

Oberyn’s Traits: Romantic, Outgoing, Hot-Headed 

Both children must be close to their adoptive father, Tyrion 

Doran must max out Logic, Wellness, and Writing

Oberyn must max out Charisma, Singing, and Fitness

Doran and Oberyn must compete at least 10 times over their lifetime (Chess, Fighting, Lottery, Dance fight, Card game, Foosball, Horseshoe game). Have the siblings keep track (trophies, sad clowns, scoreboards, your pick) 

They must invite 3 long-lost family members to the castle

You must decide if the intellectual Doran or the charismatic Oberyn leads the castle into a new era; the other must die by public execution  

If you decide to play, please tell me! I’ll be doing a YouTube series following my own adventures in the challenge so I’d love to see what you guys do with it. 

[howtotrainyourhuntress]

[httyd ficlet] Backflips

Rating: T. For... Blood? 

Characters/Pairings: Hiccup + Dagur the Deranged

Notes: i was rewatching enemy of my enemy, and i just... wanted to type this out. The hiss and sizzle of dragonfire had silenced, simmering down to reveal smoldering ruin, and all that was left was the acrid stench of ozone in the air. Hiccup, crouched behind one of the mangled dragon cages, poked his head out of cover to stare at the dragon hunter Toothless had blasted, leaving a gaping crack in his protective battle helm. Casting a furtive glance to the landscape, he gently rested an open palm against the Night Fury’s snout.

Toothless made a low rumbling noise, unhinging his jaw. The taste of electricity rippled heavily through the cloying air.

His flaming blade was still thrumming in his hand as he swept it about the area, illuminating the shadowy corners. There were bodies strewn everywhere, some writhing weakly, others perfectly still among the mess of splintered wood and field of arrows. He kept his body poised in an offensive stance  as he straightened up, slowly, waiting for another enemy to vault from cover with a high powered crossbow, locked and loaded.

He and Toothless were the only ones standing.

“Dagur?” He called, his throat tight, voice thin. 

In the chaos of the battle, he couldn’t remember where the Berserker had gone. The Rider carefully flipped over a face-down man with a nudge of his shoe. He began to pick his way across the field, stooping to lift a few overturned shields, gingerly stepping around destroyed barricades with Toothless close on his tail. “Dagur! Answer me!” He called again, his veins suddenly flooded with ice-cold panic. He was a colossally built man? There were only so many places for him to be.

A fist shot up from a pile of beams, cracking the wood from the sheer force in a hailing fountain of flinders. After recovering from the initial shock of the sound, Hiccup raced over and found the man crawling out of the debris. The vivid fire of his hair was matted to his forehead, skin pale beneath a sheen of sweat. “Right over here, you don’t have to shout.” He managed with a wincing growl.

Stabilizing his balance on his prosthetic, Hiccup grabbed Dagur’s arm, hoisting him the rest of the way. Gauging his unsteady gait, he helped lower him to lean against a sturdy support. “You alright?” 

“Never better.” Adrenaline still pumping in combination with the insatiable bloodlust, he flashed a row of sharp teeth.

“Oh good. Great.” Hiccup let a shaky breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, slip between his lips. “In that case.” He straightened, carding a hand through his russet hair, and cleared his throat, “I hate you!” He said, throwing his arms up in exasperation, snapping him away from any tenderness exhibited “I told you this was a trap, I told you we were walking right into an ambush, you don’t ever listen to me!” Stammering, “You could’ve died!”

He angled his head, a smirk clearly conveying the amusement, “Oh, Hiccup, do I look like the kind of man who dies?” The chuckling undertone didn’t do anything to reassure him.

“You’re hit--An arrow!” Hiccup could see a dark blooming flower from the arrow’s point of entry. Opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, he felt the rush of panic, glimpsing how deep it was buried into Dagur’s side.

Glancing down as if he hadn’t seen it before, Dagur’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Oh, yeah, look at that. Hm. Didn’t even notice. Good eye, Hiccup.” Much to the horror of all present company, Dagur grasped the arrow and, before Hiccup could intervene, ripped it out.

“No! No dooN’t pull it ou—AAAA!” Pressing his hands on either side of his face at the sight of the crimson dipped arrow being casually discarded, Hiccup and Toothless groaned simultaneously. Dragging his hands downward, a million thoughts raced through his head on how to fix the problem. “Why would you do that?” It was after the fact.

“Jeez, I knew you were naggy...” Clamping his hand over the hot wound, he did the next worse thing, which was stand to full height faster than a spring. 

Hiccup let the jab wash over him and touched a free hand to his, staunching the wound. “We need to get this looked at, now.” He would’ve been less panicky if Dagur hadn’t unplugged the leak and skipped a few important steps in first aid.  

“Nah.” Voice graveled from weariness--delirium, more likely--he thought it fair to let him know he wouldn’t be too troubled. “It’s not bad, here, check this out. I’m gonna do some backflips...” The unique cadence of his voice slurred. 

Most dragon hunter arrows were laced with some paralytic agent or another. A fact that only worsened the situation. 

He took all of three steps before his knees buckled. A distressed yell ripped from his throat as white streaked his vision. Something grabbed him before he collided with the ground, and then he found himself staring into Hiccup’s face, hovering over him, fraught with concern. “Your have beautiful eyes.” Syllables dragged heavily.

“Oh boy, we’ve lost him.” Straining under the weight he’d hooked his arms under, Hiccup attempted to keep the man upright.

“Did ya see ‘em? Did you see the backflips?” Carefully looping an arm around his waist, he motioned for assist from Toothless. The Night Fury lowered himself to the proper position so his Rider could mount. “How many did I do?” None. Not a single one. 

“Uhh, too many to count.”   

[elfnerdherder]

The Unquiet Grave: Chapter 20 Pt. 2

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Chapter 20: Where does the Swallow Fly? (Pt. 2)

Dolarhyde handles his broken arm much the way a seasoned FBI agent would. He cradles it but made little to no comment. There seems to be to him far more pressing matters, so the matter of his pain can wait. In it, Will senses a familiar pressure of someone having been used to dealing with long periods of excruciating pain.

He sits where Will once sat, and Hannibal had taken the place just across from him, poised on the edge of his seat. He made no move to adjust his collar or tie, although it left them askew and exposing the mottled skin beneath. Hands best fit to choking. Hands best fit to hurting.

It left Will to leaning on the desk, his back to the flames and eyes fixed to the people before him that are the literal reason for why his entire world is attempting to come crashing down around him.

Oh, but wait; he’s missing Abigail. Truly, it was her that led to all of this around him?

“Have they done your evaluation?” Dolarhyde asks Will.

Will nods, but his eyes are on Hannibal. “What did you mean?” he asks. Behind him, the fire sears hot, but it’s a reminder for him to stay grounded. The longer the quiet sits, the longer he’s sure he’s done something wrong, but if it’s wrong Dolarhyde doesn’t seem to realize it. If it’s wrong, it’s wrong enough not even a powerfully unhinged E-2 can sense it. 

“You’re full of questions this evening,” Hannibal notes. 

“Hannibal—”

“It’s as I said. You began to rage at me about how I had this edge of sorts over you, how you had a distinct lack of…tools…” His lip quirked. “But when you finally let go, when you finally allowed yourself to feel something other than the control and restraint you’ve been subjected to your entire formative life, you were able to so completely and effortlessly weaponize your power that your emotions bled into the Great Red Dragon of all people, and he began to mimic you. You took control of him.

“Not even I can do that,” he adds after a beat.

The quiet in the wake of his clipped speech is a heavy kind. It’s the same kind as in funeral rooms, when acquaintances are forced to reminisce about distant relatives, the very same as the new girlfriend meeting disapproving parents; it’s the same as when Will first dreamed of another boy’s nightmares in school and was able to somehow help him by easing the terror of it.

“And you worry about what I Dreamed into your mind?” Hannibal wonders savagely. His eyes still sit like delighted almonds on his high-cut cheekbones.

Will wants, for a wild moment, to stab them out.

Not my thoughts, think of walls, Will, walls…

Will rubs his bare hands onto his pants, but he’s not sure he can scrub away the rush of disgust that roils through him. It’s a punch of disbelief, coupled with a trickle of a sick certainty of his capability to be savage, given what he’d done to Agent—

—Mr. Jackson, now. Agent no longer.

Was that truly Dolarhyde’s madness clinging to him, or was it his own when he’d encountered the doomed agent in the restroom?

“Tell me about Red Dragon,” Dolarhyde cuts in. If Hannibal’s words condemn Will in his eyes, it doesn’t show. He leans in, and his stare is with the same heated focus as it had been in the hotel. His broken arm rests at stiff, ugly attention.

“What do you want to know?” Will asks. Shame sits with the yolks in the bottoms of his shoes. He wonders what Jack thinks of his lead.

“I’ve…I’ve killed s—some… a person, I think.” Dolarhyde confesses. His lips slur over the ‘s’, and a hand lifts to cover it. “Each time I lose time, people die.”

Will frowns. “Who’s hunting the hunter?”

“Purnell.” His lip curls. “Agents that work directly under her.”

“The Great Red Dragon worked under her until you started asking questions. How are your walls?”

Dolarhyde looks at him the exact same way that he had in the hotel room; his eyes flash with something, a dark and wicked sort of hunger, then it’s gone. “I think now you’d be able to Dream me walls. I think they’d be compelling, too.” He looks away to the bookshelves whose inhabitants now litter the floor every which way, pages crushed beneath spines that fell with careless, haphazard violence. Something in them stiffens his spine, and his jaw hardens. 

“I don’t want them anymore, Will Graham. I think the time for my walls are obsolete.”

There’s a moment where Will immediately looks to Hannibal for his reaction, but he stops himself just in time. There are no safe spaces here. Hannibal is anything but his paddle. “You don’t want them, or the Great Red Dragon doesn’t want them?”

His nostrils flare. “We are the same.”

“If you were the same, then wouldn’t you remember who he murdered before he came here?” Will challenges. “Wouldn’t you remember why he tracked me down?”

“Because We watch the Hunter, Will Graham. The only way to do so is by tracking him down.”

Who watches the watcher? Who hunts the hunter?

“Do you feel protective of him, given all that he’s done?” Hannibal cuts in before Will can fire off the feelings that sit on his tongue. “Given all that you think you’re going to get him to do?”

“Speak for yourself,” Will snaps, and he looks to Dolarhyde. “I’ve had my evaluation, and I passed. Purnell sent someone after me, which means you can’t be here with me.”

“They know,” Dolarhyde replies.

“Which means you shouldn’t be here,” Will repeats, harder. “I told Jack I had a lead when I came here, so the longer I’m here they’re going to send someone after me. They already think you’re after me.”

“Are you going to continue helping the FBI after everything they’ve done, Will?” Hannibal interjects. His surprise sounds almost human.

Dolarhyde looks at Hannibal, and something in his expression holds enough interest that Will is immediately put on edge. The two of them shouldn’t be alone in a room together. “That’s not a priority to me right now,” he says. His gaze rests on Hannibal’s shoe. “There’s the matter of you.”

“Of me?”

Will scoffs, “If you think I’m going to wait for you to try and kill me, you’re mistaken.”

“I’ve had many opportunities to kill you Will, and I haven’t,” Hannibal reminds him genially.

“If you go back in there, you won’t come out alive,” Dolarhyde cuts in bluntly. “They will kill you and alter the results. You know too much about what they’ve done. With Purnell in charge, that’s how it will always be.”

He believes it, but the alternative is no more promising either. The alternative…

Will’s compelled, for just a moment, to laugh at the sheer irony of the situation, that an E-3 with supposedly unlimited power is stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s like being in that fucking cabin all over again, only his hands are on Abigail’s throat and he’s remembering just what its’ like to live a life where one never truly seems to have a choice.

He doesn’t laugh; he manages a dusty exhale and a cough, and he buries his face in his hand.

“Then let’s find a way to get to Hannibal’s house,” he suggests into his palm. He scrubs at his scruff and looks at Hannibal with something much akin to violent intent. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight now that I know what you are.”

Hannibal has the grace not to say anything snarky about it. In the background, the fire pops and cackles at their misfortune.

-

Hannibal doctored Dolarhyde’s wound after they safely and discreetly reached his house, and they retreat into the kitchen as he makes a tea that will help with the pain. Will rests with his back to the pantry, his eyes on the killers just in front of him acting for all intents and purposes like something other than killers.

Hannibal’s neck has lost some of the redness to it, but there’s a tinge of purple to it instead, a darker hue from bruises already forming. Red Dragon’s grip had been no joke—he’d truly meant to kill him. Will studies it for longer than he likes before he skips over the not-so-good doctor and studies the room around him, once an intimate space of creativity and now holding something of more sinister intent.

Not for the first time, Will is very much aware of how all it takes is one moment—one second, in truth—to shift an entire perspective. His life of late has felt like nothing but one second after another of turns on turns on turns, and maybe it’s now that he truly, truly fathoms the twisting halls in the House of Mirrors, the fucking irony of Hannibal being the one to find him and right him.

Now that he has had time and tainted silence to retreat into himself, Will finds himself thinking over the very first time he’d ever eaten something offered from Hannibal Lecter. The salad and the rabbit and the terror.

The meat sometimes tastes like terror.

Hannibal hadn’t seemed too offended when he couldn’t eat the meat offered, cooked with care. I can’t account for how the hunted behave before they die. He’d almost seemed more curious and amused, like it was a quaint allergy revealed at a tea party than anything else.

And the care he’d showed in escorting him from the Callumny of Appelles, like he actually worried at Will’s mental space. Will’s thinking, and down the halls of his mind behind his walls he’s opening doors, retreating farther and farther away. Hannibal’s neck will be bruised beyond hiding tomorrow, and he’s the one that threw that young woman onto the antlers of a stag just to hear her scream. A choking scream, but musical all the same.

The worst thing, you see, about being an empath is the horrifying burden of imagination that comes with it.

“Are you going to brood all night, or have you thought of a plan?”

It takes a dragging moment for Will to register Hannibal’s voice. He looks away from the corner of the refrigerator and fixes his gaze just to his shoulder, unable to truly pull himself much farther past that. “If you’ve killed Slowinski, then your final goal is Purnell, right?”

Dolarhyde’s large, capable hand makes the teacup inside of it fragile and small. He lifts it and sniffs suspiciously at the contents before he sucks it down and grimaces; still hot. “Yes.”

“And then?”

“Then?”

“What’s your plan after that? Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go into hiding.”

Will’s lip curls, and he looks to Dolarhyde’s teacup. “Are you going to let him continue to kill people? More blackouts?”

“If he said no, would it absolve him of all of the other murders?” Hannibal wonders.

Sometimes the meat tastes like terror.

“I wanted help, and they wouldn’t give it, Will Graham.” Dolarhyde replies, ignoring Hannibal. “I will help myself now.”

Will chews on his bottom lip, watching Hannibal pour Dolarhyde another cup of tea.

“You’ll need to go far from here. If not me, someone else. Someone on a tighter leash.”

“And what about you?” Dolarhyde challenges. Something about Will’s words drags a wan smile to his lips. “Are you also going to go into hiding? Run from them and keep running until you can’t anymore?”

“Their hearts race, their eyes widen, and in that final moment their muscles tighten. That was a very terrified rabbit.”

“I’m leaving, but where I’m going doesn’t concern anyone here. I want that made very clear,” says Will. He rests his hands on his hips, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “The only reason we’re all in this position is because of the FBI. The way I see it, the farther apart from one another we are, the harder time they’ll have finding us, and the higher our survival odds.”

Will won’t look at Hannibal, but he can hear something smug dripping from his lips as he says, “If you believe the only thing entwining the three of us together is the FBI, you’re willfully misinterpreting the evidence just before you.”

“Regardless—” Will snaps, glancing to him before looking back to Dolarhyde— “I have to go and call Jack Crawford. I have to pretend that I lost the lead, and by tomorrow we all need to separate.”

“That is easily remedied,” Dolarhyde replies, and he stands up. His large stature beside Hannibal is a chilling reminder of how easily he could have killed him, and Will manages a glance to his face, as empty as it once had always been.

What Will wouldn’t pay to go back to the time when looking at him had only brought silence.

-

I’ll call tomorrow with a follow-up.

Will turns his phone off after sending the text, and he looks out of the window rather than look at the man sitting across from him, observing him.

“Do you think if you keep a wakeful vigilance over me in my home, I won’t be able to hurt someone?” Hannibal wonders.

Will ignores him, favoring the snowfall outside instead. In the still, awful hours of the night where the air presses too close, Dolarhyde had slipped into the quiet with little ceremony, his splinted arm tucked against his chest. For some reason, Will had almost expected a resistance from him when Will had told him to leave. Back at the office, he hadn’t seemed in any place to leave.

“Or did I accidentally allow you to go too far,” he muses, more to himself than Will, “lost to the wayward machinations of thought.”

“I have nowhere to go,” Will says to the snowfall. With the curtains pulled back, frost crawls with a lazy intent around the corners of the panes. “I’m right where you’d like me to be.”

“One can be sitting mere feet away and still have travelled too far,” Hannibal replies.

There’s nothing else, though, that he is able to pry from Will. Silence lingers, and he enjoys a cup of something stronger than the tea he’d given Dolarhyde, a burn to soothe the throat aching from the grips of death.

“When I was small, I saw what it was to be an empath,” he says after a time. Will gives no indication that he’d heard, lost among his walls and doors. “My family thought to protect me from being sent somewhere to be tested, to be sold to something before I’d even had the chance to learn what it meant to even be what I was.

“In Lithuania, to not report your child is a death sentence. Naturally, the government has ways of finding out when someone is lying to them.”

Hannibal allows that to linger in the air, as though he is a storyteller to a rapt audience.

“Although they could not have said who the empathic child was…they could try to figure it out. To force their hand, should they threaten their family. Ironically, the detainers used were always empaths because the government couldn’t be sure if the family had taught their child to weaponize their gifts,” he muses, and he takes a sip of his wine. Will feels the pressure of his stare on his skin, pushing for entry. “They found out which of us was the empath as easily as if we’d told them ourselves, but by then the damage was done…lines had been crossed, Will. Lines no one truly can forgive.

“They found the empath, but I think that if any one of us could go back to that day, we’d have each done it a little differently.”

Will can imagine it, but is that really so surprising? His skin feels over-sensitive despite being cloaked within his own clothing, and he wants to scrub his hands raw despite the fact that they’re safely tucked away from the world. Within a slow exhale, he’s just as easily imagining what it is to peel the skin away from bone, to feel a sort of fascinating power as the shine of membrane reflects in the light. A fast-running river of thought takes him, and he’s opening doors that should be closed, wondering just how long it would take to build his own plots of mycelium in the ground, something that would reach and know when he was there.

“The very first time that I weaponized my gift, I didn’t kill a single soul,” Hannibal continues, reverent.

Will’s gaze slides slyly to him, and his lip curls. “I don’t believe you.”

“I could show you, if you’d like,” Hannibal offers, and he leans forward in his chair, gaze fixated now that he has Will’s attention. He seems to be painfully aware of how tentative it is, as though he could lose it at any moment to the rushing tide. “Would you like to see?”

“No.”

“I think you would,” Hannibal replies, quiet. “Because the first time you weaponized your gift, you completely eradicated their entire existence as though they never were, and the second time you assumed control of their very will, their essence with the same effort as it takes to breathe.”

“And you wonder why the Academy encourages self-control,” Will retorts, only it’s half-assed because his horse isn’t quite hitched to their post any more than it is to Hannibal’s. He’s adrift, and he thinks of the times he used to sit in the fields just behind his house, the tall grass high enough to rise up about him like golden waves. The wind would blow, and his house would sit adrift in a sea of sunshine sprouted from the earth; a gust from the other side would bend stalks, bowing to its promise of sanctuary, and then another gust would tumble him under waves again.

“What did it feel like?” Hannibal asks.

Will wants to be sharp, then, and cruel. He can’t sense Hannibal’s curiosity, but he can see it in the way he leans in, inviting. Will is uncharted territory for Hannibal, too. An E-3, and isn’t that curious?

He thinks of his house, standing alone in an ocean of nothing but the earth and the woods and the trees. His lips part, and he can all but see Hannibal cease breathing to catch his words. “Do you think if I describe it easily enough, you can replicate it?”

“I only Dream things, Will; you make them real.”

“I wasn’t aware I’d even done it, and you want to know what I felt,” he mutters. Then, “I felt…I felt a need to build my walls. The Great Red Dragon’s emotions were…” God, they were, and it was pure vitriol at his back as he tried to keep a battering ram from hitting its mark. “I was imagining my walls, and then I felt him help me keep them that way—well,” he tacks on, savagely, “I thought he was helping. But I must have been taking.”

“If it’s any consolation, there may have been a point where your emotions overlapping with his made it impossible to distinguish who was giving and who was taking,” Hannibal says, gaze still fixated. A predator who’s caught his prey.

Will would take no such consolations from him. He looks back to the window and the snow adrift to the demanding breeze. “It may have started that way, but it didn’t end that way.”

“And so you remain awake rather than allow yourself to Dream.”

“I’m awake because I don’t trust you not to stab me in the back for knowing too much,” Will retorts.

“Am I the FBI?”

No, worse; he was curious.

“You’ve given me your secrets, Will. I’m more than happy to give you mine,” Hannibal offers genially, and he stands, crossing the short distance to hold out his hand. “Haven’t I been forthcoming in the past?”

Will looks at his hand, bare and open with an offering as tempting as it is poisonous. He thinks of the rabbit that just hadn’t hopped fast enough, how everyone loved Hannibal’s cooking and how he maybe may have started out a victim, but he certainly didn’t remain that way.

“I don’t want your secrets any more than I want to give you mine,” Will admits, and he stands up so that he is chest-to-chest with him. Hannibal doesn’t step back to give him room, crowding into his space, and Will thinks his walls high, strong and resilient in the face of someone that slipped something dark and sinister within their depths without telling him.

And with that thought, he slips around him and dismisses himself to instead keep a better vigil within the safety of the guest bedroom.

Will Dreams of bare hands offering Monkshood wrapped in lace. He tastes a rabbit running scared.

-

He calls Jack in the morning, standing in the snow on Hannibal’s back patio. The snow is a wet kind that will turn to an ugly slush that could ice if the temperature drops—Will feels it in the bite of the wind on his nose.

“What was the lead?” Jack asks the moment he picks up. If he knows about Slowinski, he gives no indication.

Will isn’t sure whether to think of that as a good sign or not. “I got to thinking maybe the rogue empath was a fan of the arts. There’s a lot of symbolism in the last piece.”

“So you’re, what—scoping out art galleries?” Jack sounds skeptical, and Will feels the distinct impression of a memory from the drawing on Hannibal’s desk, the one that’d shown him everything.

I wanted to see this painting one last time before I left.

“Just certain art pieces. Certain painters. I didn’t really get much, but…” he lets it linger a second before he exhales a laugh. He’d slept like shit. “I think I just need to stay busy, and maybe I’ll see something.”

There’s something surreal to the idea of talking like this, like he’s truly about to go back to work and pretend to stay busy, like he’s truly about to pretend that everything is okay. He’d passed his evaluation, and wasn’t that something to celebrate?

“If busy is what you’re looking for, then I’ve got something,” says Jack, and he sounds none-too-pleased with it. “Abigail Hobbs has taken off, and no one has a damn clue where she’s off to.”

There are several ways that people respond to shocking news. More often than not there is a certain denial to it because neurotypicals generally hope for the best despite evidence to the contrary. This, though, in the wake of the night prior seems only to confirm something deep in his gut, something he’d wrestled with as he’d tried to fall asleep in the house of a serial killer:

If he was leaving, Abigail had to come, too.

“Can’t make my schedule any busier than it is,” he says dryly, and he squints up to the sky. Looks like freezing rain. Smells like it, too. “I’m on my way.”

[black-strike-otp]

part 67

All my evil cackling as I await ya’ll’s responses and confusion.

Slamming his fist on the table, the shopkeep’s distorted features grew only more gnarled and twisted with rage. The red glaze on his optics had grown infinitely brighter as he leaned over the metal slab that separated himself from the mech standing before his shop whose armor was nearly identical in hue now to the merchant’s.

“You’re trying to dupe me out of my hard earned credits! What kind of fool do you take me for? Why would I trade a damn near brand new energon infuser for this junk!”

“It’s hardly junk, sir,” the customer responded in an impatient tone. It was clear from his raised chin, defiant gaze and helm horns tilted back that he was growing rather testy.

“Oh yeah? What do you call all this garbage?” the dealer snapped. “Souvenirs? Trinkets? Knickknacks? Come on mech, you’re wasting my time, beat it.”

Discharging a loud and frustrated vent, the customer placed his servo upon the table as he leaned forward. “These are priceless articles from the Hall of Records! They’re Cybertronian history!”

“Then why don’t you keep up, or trade ‘em to someone who gives a frag!”

The fuming patron’s right horn twitched slightly as his frown only grew deeper.

Beside him, a dragonic helm plopped down a small case on the table. His optics portrayed the slightest of boredom with irritation as he reared back to place his two frontal legs upon the desk.

The salesman instantly leaned back as the dark grey muzzle pressed forward and claws raked upon the slab of metal.

“Trust me buddy, he doesn’t want to hand these over in the first place,” the metal drake huffed, a puff of hot air physically escaping his maw. “But we’ve already handed over much everything else spare we have that can be traded for energon reserves and other equipment. We don’t have all day to look for the right shop to hand these off to in hopes of finding something else you might be willing to trade for.”

“These are historical documents and valuable artifacts of the Golden Age of Cybertron, not to mention the personal logs from Megatronous prior to the Decepticon/Autobot war. Do you realize how rare this stuff is? Maybe it’s not priority marketing now since bots are trying to just stay online but it’s an investment. Trust me, when; and I do mean when, Cybertron is recovering, bots are going to want these. Museums, the Hall of Records. Data clerks will be swarming you for a glance. These’ll mean something one day.”

Raising an optic ridge, the vendor offered a grunt as he sniffed. “Megatronous limericks and a bunch of scrap I’ll be holding on to for the next some odd hundreds of years hoping to find the right buyer. You must think I’m an idiot.”

“Fine,” sniffed the patron with a detesting glance around the unruly disorganized shop. “Thank you for your business, sir.”

“Anytime, ‘Con,” the mech replied with a chuckle.

Whipping around, the crimson armored seeker headed for the door. Behind him, the wyvern snatched up the case of items in his maw and placed a few other items back in the soft pouch at his side. Slipping off the table with a scrap of his claws that caused the shopkeep to cringe, he hurried out to match pace with the much taller mech.

“Nighthaw’,” the quadrupedal beast grunted around the mouthful of handles in his jaws.

Tilting his helm downward, the medic’s viewing HUD flickered with schematics and a flash of data before it disappeared in a flash. He offered an apologetic smile as he reached down to grasp the container.

“Thank you, Infiltrator.”

Drawing his glossia out around his teeth as he unhinged his jaw for a moment, the deep charcoal armored dragon rumbled a yawn.

“Sure thing boss. Pretty bold of you to try going about trading this scrap on the market though; you know no bot’s going to want useless datafiles and antiques. If it isn’t some weapon of mass destruction, credits, or energon...”

“Or slaves,” Nighthawk hissed with a foul sneer.

“Or that,” Infiltrator agreed, “it’s worthless. There just ain’t much bots want otherwise these days.”

“You mean between money, equipment for survival, and pleasures of the most twisted of sort. Who would have thought.”

“On the bright side,” the beastie growled playfully, his tail lashing, “You get to keep all files. At least you’ll appreciate them.”

“Not all of these are mine, Infiltrator.”

“Can we not discuss your criminal background while meandering a well-known Decepticon and rogue populated trading post on an asteroid hurtling around a star?”

“Don’t tell me that still bothers you,” mused the medic with a sideways glance and a teasing grin.

Snorting, the dragon extended his wings out a fraction from his frame. “Who looks at an unstable large rock that is destined to come out out of its unstable orbit or be flung into the sun and says ‘Oh yes, this would make a great place to set up shop.’”

“A bot that wanted to erase all records of them and their shop’s location at a convenient time,” Nighthawk answered with an understanding nod.

Rolling his optics, the dragon have a snort in reply. He could hear the husky laughter from Nighthawk even as he tried to hold it back. The smug aft.

Taking in the rancid smells of the emporium, Infiltrator breathed in heavily. He could identify the fluids dripping from bots, the odor of interfacing his tried to ignore, dried energon, rust, sickness, the gas emitted from weapons, ammonia and...

And that one.

Lifting his helm up higher, the dragon came to a complete stop as he turned his helm around curiously.

Realizing that his companion was no longer at his side, Nighthawk came to a sudden halt. A bot clipped his wing and muttered a curse as he walked by and the old medic shot him an icy glare.

Flickering his optics back towards the dragon who was seemingly upholding much of the crowd trying to get around, Nighthawk sighed. His wings tucked further against his backside as they bent somewhat painfully to avoid being struck as he took a few steps back towards the dragon.

“Infiltrator, come on-”

“Boss, wait.”

“No I’m not waiting, do you see the disruption you’re causing. Now come on, before some rapscallion tries to mug us.”

Looking over his shoulder with a wide gaze, the dragon spoke with a sense of awe as he spoke with surprise, “That’s Blackout’s scent.”

“What are you talking about,” Nighthawk snarled viciously, feeling a sputter in his spark that spoke of his sympathy towards the offlined slagger. “Blackout’s gone. Are your energon levels low? Do I need to run a scan on you?”

“Nighthawk I’m serious,” snarled the mythical creature, lashing his tail as his fangs were bared with unpleasantness. “I recognize that smell. It’s him.”

“There’s no way,” the medic stated with a breezy wave of his servo.

Disregarding the deadpan look on the dragon’s expression, the medic mused over the very idea. Blackout had been last reported at that battle years ago where he went missing. Logged as offlined; heavily damaged and left behind by the great Lord Megatron himself. It had been years since he was last sighted. He was floating debris in the cosmos by now; possibly having already collided with forming a nebula or star or who could imagine what else.

Unless someone came upon his corpse and defiled it.

Chills ran up the old medic’s backside.

“Can you follow it, Infiltrator?” Nighthawk cautiously advised. “Is it fresh?”

“Fresh,” the dragon scoffed, taking a step forward. “It’s recent. Like, nearby, just there, just...”

Infiltrator whipped his helm around so fast that Nighthawk flinched inwardly for the mech. That had to put a strain on the neck cables.

With a flicker of data on his HUD screen, he followed Infiltrator’s gaze to see a black shadow dart off behind a shop. He didn’t have enough time to scan the figure well, but whoever they were, they were huge.

Before Nighthawk could comment on it, Infiltrator took off through the bustling crowd. Bots were yelling and swearing loudly as the dragon’s wings snapped out wide, smacking mechs and femmes alike. Many fell over in the chaos or jumped into the nearest storefront to avoid being trampled.

Lord Primus above, he wasn’t taking that bot with him anywhere after this.

Striking his wings up and down with a hard push, the dragon suddenly took lift and glided over the crowd. With another flap and then another, he began to gain altitude.

Lowering his helm as though it was going to hide his shame or the fact he had been accompanying the dragon, Nighthawk slipped around one of the nearby alleys. He squeezed past bots who let out startled exclamations as they witnessed the drake take flight, soaring higher and higher as it circled the sky.

He began to plummet.

Gripping his supplies tightly to his side, the crimson medic began shoving his way around the Cybertronians lining the street. Some called out to him and others threw threats he couldn’t even hear. Streams of information moved across his soft violet HUD screen viewer as it flickered up a close up of Infiltrator’s descending form. No signs of injury, no fumes emitting from him, no obvious damage to his wings or any energon flecking off of his frame.

As the medic lightly jogged down the street, the crowds began to thin out as the bustling businesses began to grow fewer and fewer between and the most shady of outcasts lingered. He made sure to keep his gaze away from any potential bots sitting or standing around here or there. Most appeared to be bounty hunters waiting for a job and outlaws looking to rob from the next face they saw.

Why was that blasted dragon leading him into the most run down, most criminally enterprised area of this blasted rock?

Cycling air in and out heavily, Nighthawk stumbled around the corner to the spot where Infiltrator had landed in the middle of a wider street.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he gasped furiously. “Do you want to be shot out of the sky? Do you want someone to spot us and report us?”

“I... I thought I saw-”

“Look,” the medic growled with annoyance, pressing his digits against the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate that you’re trying to prove something, but you’re going to get us offlined. You can’t make a show like that around here. Have I taught you nothing?”

Lowering his helm, the dragon scuffed his pedes across the dirt. “Sorry, boss.”

“Ugh, no, don’t- don’t apologize, it’s alright,” Nighthawk huffed as he removed his servo from his face and gestured in a downard motion with it. “We’ll look around for a nanoklik and see if we can’t find the figure again. It’s probably some fragger who took parts of Blackout for a trophy or something equally disgusting. Where did you pick up the scent last? We’ll follow it a nanoklik longer, but if we come up with nothing, we’re leaving.”

Delight and eagerness lit up Infiltrator’s face. It settled some of the grumpiness that was tainting Nighthawk’s usual impassive mood. He much preferred the idea of returning to the Jaguar and going about his business than loitering around a hotspot for crooks, but it would at least put the dragon at ease to look around for a moment.

He wouldn’t allow himself to even the thought that it would put him at ease to know there was no bot running around with parts of Blackout. Frankly, he wanted to pretend he didn’t care. He wished he didn’t care. He had other priorities; his survival, Infiltrator’s survival. Putting himself and his comrade in a situation where they could be offlined just by walking by the wrong bot didn’t seem like the best idea he’d had since leaving the Malevolence.

Swinging his helm around, the dragon snuffled the ground and then the air. He walked with cautious optimism down the nearly empty avenue. From time to time, lifting his helm back far as he tracked along the backways and along the roadside.

Crossing his arms across his chassis, Nighthawk’s leg bumped gently into his trunk of goods. He gave a huff, looking down the land to make sure that they didn’t run into any bot while the dragon played detective.

An eerie shadow fled down one of the allies up ahead.

His horns twisted forward.

“Hey boss, where you goin’?” the metal wyvren called out as Nighthawk suddenly sprinted past him.

A kiss of pain moved through the old medic’s joints as he tripped up awkwardly on his bad leg. Damn, he was going to feel that soreness after his next recharge.

Turning the edge of the building, Nighthawk looked down the empty passage.

Walking slowly down the route, he glanced around with confusion. He turned back as he heard the huffing of the dragon skidding along his nails to catch up.

“That’s strange, I thought I saw-”

In the darkness of the ally, a phantom apparition suddenly moved with a flash of red optics. Before Nighthawk could react, a large servo grabbed his shoulder and slammed him back into the wall.

His helm smacked the building behind him and a whoosh of air escaped his frame.

A brutish growl tore its way out of the figure’s throat, derma bared like a wild animal.

Infiltrator tensed up, his frame going rigid.

As Nighthawk’s vision began to come around with a groan of pain, he was suddenly released, falling back on his pedes and staggering with shock.

“Nighthawk?” the demonic voice rumbled with viciousness lacing it’s voice.

Reaching up, the medic winced as he touched the sore spot on the back of his helm. His glaring crimson optics looked up with surprise, which was quickly replaced by fury.

“What in the Pit are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead!”